


Letters

by HPswl_cumbercookie



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Ficlet, Love Letters, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 18:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPswl_cumbercookie/pseuds/HPswl_cumbercookie
Summary: Ficlet prompt? Your bio says you accept them? How about: John finds a stash of little love notes that Sherlock has written to help keep his sanity over the years as he fell deeper and deeper in love with John?





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Another ficlet for a prompt from a kind Nonny on tumblr. I literally wrote this at 3:30 am and fell asleep writing it 3 separate times. I hope you guys like it!! Feel free to point out errors I may have made considering I wrote it while half asleep

John had decided it was time . . . he was finally going to clean out Sherlock’s bedside table. He knew for a fact that it was a disaster area, he’d asked Sherlock several times to clean it out because he was 99% sure that if he put one more item in there, the drawer would burst, and then they’d have to buy a new nightstand. Also, it makes things a little awkward when you’re just getting into the mood and suddenly you can’t find the lube because it’s buried in your drawer under mounds of papers. 

So, armed with an entirely empty waste bin and a few small empty boxes, John went to work. Slowly but surely he looked through and sorted every single scrap of paperwork, every last odd or end, and every knick knack into either one of the boxes or the waste basket. He was nearly finished when he came across a box. It was small, only about 25 cm by 8 cm, but surprisingly hefty, and it sounded like it contained . . . he shook the box lightly and thought to himself _Great! More papers! I thought I was almost done._ He opened the box and dumped out the papers into his lap, a rather large stack of papers for one small little box. He picked one up at random and unfolded it to see what it was. It was slightly wrinkled, like someone had carried it around with them but still tried to keep it safe, it was lightly yellowed from, judging by the lingering scent of ingrained smoke, a significant amount of time around cigarette smoke, and was filled with Sherlock’s hardly legible scrawl, even more illegible due to the obvious shaking the hand writing it had been experiencing when it was written. He was surprised to see that the first word written on it was his name.

_John. I’m sorry that I cannot be with you. You have no idea how much it pains me to leave you behind. I have asked Mycroft to keep tabs on you, but to not appraise me of your whereabouts. I worry that doing so would result in my own distraction, and consequently, likely my death as well. I hope that you will wait for me, as I will always wait for you. I have waited for so long, I hope that someday maybe you will see what I feel, and maybe you’ll return the feelings. Hopefully I’ll be home soon. I love you, I always have. Yours always, Sherlock_

John paused for a moment and reread the letter. It only took him a moment to realize when the letter was written, and only a second after that to do a double take as he realized the contents. Sherlock had loved him since before the fall. He’d known that, obviously. He’d told John several times that he’d been in love with him for a long time, but John had never stopped to consider what that had meant for Sherlock during those rougher times. He set that letter to the side and grabbed another letter at random.

_John. I know we only just met, but already I am enthralled by you. You captivate me, intrigue me more than anyone else ever has. I’m not quite sure what to do with these feelings. I believe earlier you tried to ask me out on a date, while we were at dinner. I’m sorry to have said no so quickly, if only because it seemed to make you uncomfortable, but also because I don’t know why I said no so quickly. It was instinctual, and my stomach was in knots as soon as I realized what you were attempting to ask and I don’t know why. I’m so confused. All I know is that I don’t want you to leave. Maybe if we get enough interesting cases you’ll decide to stay. All will be revealed in due time I suppose. On to a new day. Sincerely, S. Holmes._

John sat back on his feels and set the letter down behind him. _God, Sherlock has been in love with me since the first day we met. He just hadn’t realized what it was yet._ He held back a soft little chuckle, despite being alone in the flat. He went to pick up another and saw that there was a date written on the back. He checked the others and saw that all of them were dated, so he went to work putting them in order. The most recent was from a few days before they got together, when they’d finally put behind them the bad blood left behind by Mary’s death and John’s subsequent refusal to speak to Sherlock and they’d talked. They’d sat across from one another for hours, telling each other many of the too-long held secrets that they’d been carrying around for so long. When they’d finally grown too tired to speak John leaned over and kissed Sherlock chastely on the lips and then lead the exhausted detective to bed, curling up behind him and together they slept long into the next day. When they were all sorted John had almost 50 letters, some as short as a few sentences, a few as long as a few pages, but each one had an obvious theme, Sherlock’s love for John. Through the letters John watched as through the years Sherlock loved John, how he attempted to care for him, how he grieved after The Fall, how he despaired when John stopped speaking to him, how he slowly but surely fell more and more in love with John with every letter, with every passing day. 

As John sat reading the most recent letter, he watched as tears fell onto the clean, crisp paper, freshly folded from its newness, and he made no attempt at cleaning them from his face as they trickled down through his late afternoon stubble.

_Dearest John, we are growing closer every day now. Now that you are speaking to me again it is taking everything in my power to stay calm, to not overwhelm you with my glee, to not hop out of my chair right this instant, drive to your new home that you had been sharing with Mary, and kiss you soundly on the mouth. I know now that you will never want to be with me, it is a truth I will have to learn how to live with. I will have to learn how to keep my feelings better hidden, because if you see them you will leave, and I could not live in a world without you John Watson, because that world would be dead to me. I hope to see you again tomorrow, you said you’d visit but you always say that, and sometimes you don’t always show up even when you promise that you will. Still I hold out hope, and maybe someday you’ll even move back into Baker Street. Maybe. The best of love to you, Sherlock._

Just as he finished reading the letter he heard Sherlock’s footsteps coming down the hallway toward him but he made no attempt to move from his spot on the floor of their bedroom. He watched through his peripheral vision as Sherlock stopped dead in the doorway, staring down at the large pile of letters on the floor.

“John. I didn’t know you were planning to clean my drawer today.” He paused. “I see you’ve read the letters.” He bowed his head.

“Sherlock, I think these are the sweetest, most romantic letters I have ever read in my life. You have no idea. Also, I can’t believe you were in love with me since the beginning. I love you, you know that right?” 

“Yes John. Yes” Sherlock stepped forward into John’s outstretched arms, laying his head on John’s shoulder and burying his nose into John’s neck, wrapping his arms around John’s midsection. “Thank you John.”


End file.
